Always HalfFull
by PaintedShadow
Summary: Takes place after 5x07. Sitting in on a Friday night with Will, his scotch and his thoughts.


**A/N: Here is a one-shot... that may have another chapter coming in the next few days. This chapter is Will-centric. The next chapter will be Alicia-centric. Let me know what you think. Happy reading!**

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**Always Half/Full**

Will sat there on his couch holding a glass of scotch with the bottle resting on the coffee table. He had turned the TV off after a rather painful search for something to watch. He sat there on a Friday night, thinking. His mind swirling with various thoughts jumping from Jeffrey to Alicia, even to Owen. He felt guilty that he couldn't have helped him more. He still didn't believe that the kid did anything. Bringing the glass to his lips, he swallowed some scotch, feeling it glide itself down his throat. His thoughts drifted off towards what Owen had said about Alicia in the elevator. About why she left.

"_Alicia was afraid of falling in love with you."_

It only took a second for his mind to think of their time together. His heart started aching. With the betrayal still ever present, he has tried hard to squash those thoughts. He remembers her touch, soft and hesitant at first. And her lips, luscious and daring red. He thinks that she wears that color on purpose now to try to get a rise out of him. He quickly down the remnants of his scotch.

The shrill of his phone shattered the silence and was deafening to Will's ears. Looking at the screen seeing Isabel's name, he presses the red button. Her asking about Alicia had brought their fling to a whole new level. She was a rebound, he will admit that. But there's just something about her knowing about Alicia that gave him a mild panic feeling.

He poured himself another glass of scotch. Halfway full, to pace himself. He thought about Owen's reaction when he mentioned that Alicia wasn't at his firm anymore. He wonders about how much Alicia had told Owen about them. He shook his head and took a large gulp of scotch. It doesn't matter how much she shared with Owen. The reality of it is that she left. She left. She didn't want to risk it all to take a chance on us. That is what he is to her—a chance, a roll of the dice. Because his feelings have changed so much over the past 20 years. Damn. That made him sound sad and pathetic. He took a long draw on his glass of scotch. His phone chimed once, looking down he saw Isabel's text 'Where r u?' He laughed at it. He should be out enjoying himself, but he was sick of this game. He still wanted her. He always would. He wanted long-term, she just never gave him the chance. After everything she has done to him, he still wants her. He downs the rest of the glass. I guess you can only have one true love. He poured more scotch, until he realized that the bottle was empty, so was his glass. "Damn it!" he yelled.

He picked up his phone and stumbled a bit towards the kitchen counter. One stumble was enough for him to lose his balance and fall, dropping his phone in the process. He started laughing when he realized he was piss drunk with no hope of going anywhere. He heard a little voice calling his name—it sounded strangely familiar. But he ignored it. He's drunk. He's imagining things. When he went to stand, he slipped and let out a string of slurred swears. It took himself time to sit up. He couldn't help but laugh. It was funny. She had driven him to this point. "Ef tis is rok butum, hen it can't het orse" he slurred, roughly translating to "If this is rock bottom, then it can't get any worse." He leaned back and came in contact with the chair. He kept himself propped there. Trying to regain his faculties. He thought about the last time he got this piss drunk. It was probably at Georgetown. He couldn't exactly pinpoint the last time. He sat there. He missed her. He didn't want to think about her but he felt as though something was missing. Isabel wasn't the missing part. He wanted another drink. He tried to stand up again. This time he was successful. He shuffled his feet across the floor to make it to his cabinet. He opened the door and was shocked to see that it was empty. His heart sunk, that was his last bottle. He had forgotten to stop at the store. He also forgot to have dinner, which probably wasn't such a brilliant idea. He slide his way over to the fridge, bracing himself against the wall he opened the fridge door, his arm went with the door, knocking him off kilter just enough to fall back to the floor—making a lovely crashing noise. He stayed still. That would be best at this point. He listened to the emptiness of his apartment. The silence was once again deafening. He was alone. It hurt. Then he heard it, the knock against his door. He muttered something out loud hoping that whoever it was would go away. The knock vibrated through the silence again. Then he heard the sliding of a key into the lock. Key. She still has the key. He actually smiled at that thought. He could hear her heels click on the floor. Each click echoed in the silence. He felt a twinge in his heart when she called his name. He grunted. "What…are…you…doing…here?" he enunciated each word so that he didn't slur. He didn't expect her voice to sound so worried.

"You called me… then didn't respond and fell."

He started laughing. "Time… to… fix… the… mess… you… created."

The clicks started again, but leading away from him. He hoped she would leave. But then he heard the clicking return. He looked up at her and noticed the empty bottle and glass in her hands.

"How much Will?"

He raised his hand and closed the gap in between his thumb and index finger to indicate how much.

"Liar." He heard her scoff out. He laughed. He never was good at lying to her.

"Half." He murmured.

She stilled, he could tell by the lack of sound and quickened breathing. "Any food?"

And he shook his head in response. He felt her lift his arm and wrap it around her neck, her hair gently tickling the inside of his bicep, "Come on, let's get you to bed. Or to the bathroom."

"Bed" he mumbled, suddenly feeling very foggy and drowsy. He helped her by standing, although on shaky legs. A sense of hope washed over him. She was here helping him. She was worried. Clearly that must mean something. But he didn't know what that something was. Could Owen be right? Could she be falling for him? He felt her arm go across his back. That's when the guilt overtook the hope. She was cleaning up after him again. Just as she did at Georgetown when he partied to hard after finals. But that means that she cares, especially if she's taking care of him. He shuffles his feet , trying to make things easier for her. "Sowwy" he whispered.

He felt Alicia sigh, "Me too."

His brain is still foggy from the alcohol, but he was pretty sure that she just apologized. "For what?" he stopped, shuffling causing her to look at him. He wanted to know how she felt. No. He needed to know. He couldn't make out what emotion was crossing her face. Is mind was too clouded and his head started to hurt. "Never mind." He mumbled. He started to walk forward and it took her a moment to join in line with him.

He felt Alicia withdraw her arm from across his back and instruct him to sit. He did, and felt the soft give of the mattress underneath him. He sighed at the feeling. And he started to lean back when he felt a hand stop him. "Scoot back first, then lay down." Her voice soft and fluid. He did as she said, the moment his head hit the pillow, he started to fade. He was vaguely aware that she told him to holler if he needed anything.

The next morning, he groaned. He felt as though someone was taking pleasure is sledgehammering his skull into a million pieces. His stomach churched as he tried to sit up. He collapsed back to the bed. How much did he drink last night? How did he make it to bed? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this hung over. His head throbbed and his stomach rolled with every move. He's too old for this. He propped himself on the bed leaning against the headboard. Looking around his bedroom, he noticed the bucket and bottled water on his night stand, with a note on it. _Drink this. Aspirin is in the bathroom._ His heart fluttered as he read the familiar handwriting. Her handwriting. When—wait, no, how did she know to come? His face contorted as he tried to think but that was just too painful. He opened the bottled and started sipping the cool liquid. He took his time, sitting in bed, sipping the water, trying to remember when Alicia had come by, and what had happened. He couldn't believe that he had blacked out—that would explain why he couldn't remember. There was only one other time that occurred and she was there taking care of him. He moaned as his stomach started rolling again. Closing his eyes and breathing deep helped it to pass. He gently swung his legs over the side of the bed, wobbling a little as he stood. He walked to his bathroom, a little off balance but reaching toward the wall in case he needed support. His head felt worse when he was standing. Now it felt like jackhammers hammering away bits of his skull. Quite a pleasant feeling alright. He didn't dare turn on the light when he reached the bathroom. Only opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the aspirin that had another note on it. He smiled weakly at the handwriting. _Take 2. Here are some sunglasses. Come out for some food when ready. _He stared at the last phrase, re-reading it several times to make sure his brain understood. She stayed. He unscrewed the cap and took two, chugging the water next to him and donning the sunglasses. After a minute he slowly walked towards his door, feeling like he was in his 20's again—anxious to see her the morning after. Granted nothing happened between them last night—not that he could remember. But knowing that she stayed to take care of him told Owen was at least partially right. Goosebumps covered his arms at that thought.

The moment he opened the bedroom door he was thankful for the sunglasses. His whole living space was filled with warm sun that glowed like the color of honey. He took his time, slowly making his way towards the kitchen. His destination was the barstool because he didn't think he could make it to the couch. He felt like a turtle, small amount of space covered with each step. That increased his anxiety of what could transpire between them. He didn't know if she would start playing enemy again, or be the kind, loving person he knows. He made it to the stool, glancing around disappointed when he didn't see her. His heart dropped in his chest when he didn't even see a note anywhere. He slid out the stool to sit on, not in the mood to find food. All he wanted to do was crawl back into bed. That was until he heard the key in the deadbolt. He saw her smile as she walked towards him with coffee and what he could assume was a bag of bagels.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

He was appreciative of her whisper. "Hung over." He grunted and smiled weakly, "I'm sorry."

He saw her shrug at his apology. "You did it to yourself. Never pegged you as one to wallow."

He took the coffee she handed to him and waited for the bagels to be toasted. His heart and pride hurt when he realized what she said.

He bowed his head, "It's because you ran from me." He looked up just soon enough to see her body tense. "I'm starting to think that your brother is right." He continued to stare at her back, she hadn't moved since he started talking. "We never did get a chance to talk after the election. Well, we never made the time." His voice low and cold. "I want to make the time, now."

He watched as she hesitantly turned around, leaning herself against the countertop. "Why now?"

This was his chance. He needed to say something to blow her away, but not scare her away. Just something with enough power behind it. His heart accelerated, his hands became clammy. He tossed a few words around in his head trying to think of the perfect response. It came to the point where his mid became blank, he wanted his heart to do the talking. Also because the jackhammers were still working on destroying his skull. He looked at her, really looked at her and saw everything he missed about her. Her eyes, her lips, her touch, her incredibly brilliant mind, even her nervous habit of biting her bottom lip. "I love you." He didn't quite realize what he had said until he saw the tears in her eyes. Well he wanted his heart to do the talking. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He was waiting for a reaction or response other than tears. He waited, noticing more tears well in her eyes. He watched her step towards him and places her hand on his. What he didn't expect was to feel the cool metal between their hands. He felt everything crashing down on him. Then he heard those two words out of her mouth, "I can't." Followed by "I'm sorry" as he listened to her heels click on the wood floor away from him. The door closing sounded as though there was a gunshot in the room. His heart started to crumble. All the pain from the moment he woke up that morning came flooding back to his awareness. Blinded by the old and new pain, he stumbled his way back to his bedroom.


End file.
